London, March 2020, and everything is going to shit - but not for the reasons it did here. They had their pandemic decades back, leaving many dead, but also a scattering of superhuman aces, and an underclass of mutated jokers. No, the problem now is that the Queen is dying - and that's Margaret, Elizabeth having died giving birth to her firstborn, a joker who didn't long survive her. Except, Margaret now tells veteran joker-ace Alan Turing, he secretly did... meaning he's the true king, and a better prospect than her own beastly sons. One of whom Turing is shagging, because of course he is.
With libraries shut, there's apparently been some enormous increase in ebook loans since the Event, but this was my first. Partly that was because it felt a little like cheating on my vows regarding further book acquisition, especially when it's not like I don't have a huge ebook backlog as well as the physical one; partly it's just that browsing online library catalogues isn't half so much fun as wandering the shelves, and the selection tends to be a lot more mainstream. Still, I didn't want to let this be a year without a Wild Cards book as well as everything else, and I was curious to see where the series' British wing went after Knaves Over Queens. Surprisingly, it's a mosaic novel, something I thought Wild Cards generally only did as a third book rather than a second in a sub-series. More ominously, of the five writers (one also the co-editor, Melinda Snodgrass), only one is British and one Irish, the rest being Americans. Exceptions exist, obviously, but as a rule there's little that makes me sympathise with the Own Voices movement as much as Americans writing British, and this one is soon stumbling into a bunch of the most glaring pitfalls. Some of them are little matters of language; I can believe the bit where the heir to the throne comes out with a bunch of Morrissey talking points about minorities on camera, but referring to the kingdom as 'England'? I don't buy it. Or the monarch having sons called Henry and Richard. Seriously? I know we sort of have a Henry, but a) he's the spare and b) it's no accident he's never referred to as that. And Richard? Why not just have one called John while you're at it? This is particularly irksome given names, how they change and adapting to them, are otherwise one of the more interesting themes running through Three Kings. Still, like the reference to the poetry of 'Yates' these could be classed as minor glitches – even if equally, that means they would have been trivially easy to fix had a Brit read the book over before it was published. Others, though, are more structural, like how the entire central plot seems to have confused the slightly ridiculous contortions of a modern constitutional monarchy with the long-ago clusterfucks that inspired the Wild Cards founder's rather higher profile subsequent work, Game Of Thrones. Or maybe they saw The Windsors and didn't twig that it's a spoof? Yes, lip service is paid to the existence of things like Prime Ministers and Home Secretaries, but you still get stuff like the King appointing and firing heads of intelligence agencies on a whim - and before there's even been a coronation, at that! Granted it's an alternate universe, but one that diverged in 1946, not 1688. And yes, the whole point of a superhero universe is to heighten things, but especially when - as in Wild Cards - it's meant to be a faintly realistic one, it needs to work vaguely within the right outlines. The Democratic Convention in Ace In The Hole, say, was more eventful than its real-world counterparts, but still recognisable as a plausible extrapolation from them. Three Kings could have been something similar, To Play The King plus mutants. As is, it's pure fantasy without realising that, and thus prone to weightlessness. The leads are mostly interesting enough company; beyond the reluctance to bail on a long-running series, and the conveniently bite-sized sections ideal for time that would otherwise be spent on listless scrolling, that was the thing which kept me reading. But suspending disbelief in the action was a struggle. Well, except maybe for the most English assassination ever - that was just ridiculous enough to be believable.
It doesn't help that one of the big themes is the responsibilities of unexpected power, something to which the past four years have repeatedly shown leaders failing to rise, at far smaller cost to themselves than their countries. There are obvious attempts at offering a topical lens here, with intolerance in high places empowering violence on the streets and the re-emergence of attitudes that had been skulking in the shadows. But like they all do nowadays, this alternate world flounders as a warning by looking so much better than our 2020. Yes, the Troubles lasted decades longer there, prolonged by a malign superhuman - but at least they have finally settled down, whereas here they're in the process of being restarted by malign imbeciles. Riots on British streets? OK, not this year, but by March 2021 the No Deal food shortages should do it. The epilogue, where Turing meets a young woman called Margaret and contemplates her "racing towards a future much more free than anything his queen had known", is almost physically painful read in a Britain the most constrained it has ever been - and that even aside from the fact she's en route to the National College of Cyber Security, or as we know it here, the ballerina reprocessing camp.